


Stolen Moments

by IndecisiveAndUncreative



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: AU, Feelings, First Meetings, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Misunderstandings, Sort Of, maybe a tear or two, mickey picks flowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 10:56:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13545894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndecisiveAndUncreative/pseuds/IndecisiveAndUncreative
Summary: Mickey steals flowers from Ian's garden for his mom's birthday, Ian catches him. Feelings happen.





	Stolen Moments

Mickey had donned his best pair of slacks and his nicest shirt for the occasion; his hair was clean and styled carefully.

He usually tried to visit his mother every other week, but today was special. Today was her birthday. He checked his reflection in the mirror and nodded in satisfaction before heading out.

A few months ago, while he was making this walk to his mom, he stumbled upon a garden filled with all different kinds of flowers. He, quite literally, stumbled, too. He had been distracted by the red-headed man working wrist deep in the dirt, shirtless under the mid-day sun.

Ever since then, Mickey had made a point to walk by the house every time he made this walk. He told himself that he only did it to pick flowers from the beautiful garden. And if he may also have been harboring a small wish to see the mystery redhead again, well, no one needed to know that.

He crouched quickly in the dirt, snapping stems of flowers he thought his mom might like. He never took too many, only enough for a small bouquet.

“What are you doing?”

Mickey froze, waiting a beat before letting his eyes slowly travel to the owner of the voice. A tall redhead stood, leaning, in the open doorway with his arms crossed over his chest. The same man from months back.

“Uh...” The gears in Mickey’s brain couldn’t grind out an intelligible response.

“Well?” The redhead cocked an eyebrow, annoyance coloring his voice.

Flowers in hand, Mickey was caught. For a second, he thought of bolting, just dropping the flowers and turning tail, but he never got the chance because the mystery man was walking in his direction.

“Are you going on a date?” the man asked, suddenly.

“No.” Mickey rose from his crouched position, finding the man to be taller than he expected and at least a few inches taller than himself.

“You sure? You’re dressed like you’re going on a date. And you’re stealing flowers from my yard.” He gave Mickey a once-over before he continued. “Whoever they are, they must be really special.”

“She is,” he responded quickly, cursing himself for even saying anything. Mickey watched as a strange emotion flashed across the man’s face so fast that Mickey couldn’t identify it before it was masked in a sort of resolve.

“I’m coming with you to your not-date,” the man said.

“Like fuck you are,” Mickey snapped.

“I want to see if she’s good enough to warrant flower theft.” He shrugged in return.

“She is,” he said defensively.

“You expect me to believe the word of a thief?” A quirk of his mouth said he was trying not to smile.

Mickey sighed heavily. “Listen man, I’m sorry. I’ll pay you for all the flowers or whatever, be on my way, and you won’t have to deal with me again.”

“You don’t have to pay me for anything. I just want to see who you’ve been stealing flowers for these past few months.”

Mickey tensed.

“That’s right,” he chuckled, that cocky smirk finally breaking over his lips, “I know this isn’t the first time you’ve done this and at this point my curiosity just  _ has _ to know. So,” he gestured to the sidewalk, “lead the way.”

Mickey debated on turning and walking the wrong way. He didn’t want to share today with a stranger. No matter how attractive the stranger may be. But no. If this guy wanted to be nosy, Mickey would teach him why he shouldn’t poke his nose where it doesn’t belong. He brought this on himself. 

“Alright,” Mickey said before starting to walk again.

The redhead stayed next to him the whole time.

“I’m Ian, by the way. Ian Gallagher.”

“Pretty sure I didn’t ask,” Mickey grumbled. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the redhead’s – Ian’s – face fall and a sliver of guilt wormed its way into his chest. He sighed. “Mickey Milkovich.”

Ian’s smile returned and he kept talking. “So, I’ve noticed that you never usually pick the same flowers every time. Does your special lady not have a preference?”

Mickey couldn’t help the small smile that graced his face. “No, she just always loved flowers.” Mickey could remember how his mother smiled at him every time he brought her flowers. “These are beautiful, Mick” she would say, even if they were wilted and turning brown, “I’m gonna go put these in some water.” She would smile and ruffle his hair before walking into the kitchen. That small bouquet would be in a coffee cup in some water sitting on the window sill above the sink for at least a week. 

They turned one last corner and Ian stutter-stepped.

“Are you seriously meeting her at the cemetery?”

“Yep,” Mickey replied, popping the “p” at the end of the word. “If that’s a problem, you can just go back home. You’re the one who insisted on coming along.”

Ian put up his hands in surrender. “Whatever you’re into, man. I don’t judge.”

The cemetery had no other visitors aside from them and Ian grew quiet; the wind moving between the stones was its own song. 

Mickey slowed to a stop in front of his mother’s grave.

The polished stone, a smooth speckled gray, stood strong with “Milkovich” engraved in stark black letters. A picture of her sat underneath. She was smiling brightly and her dark hair was falling in loose waves over her shoulders.

Mickey looked up just in time to see realization hit Ian like a freight train.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, “I’m–.” His voice caught as his wide eyes flicked between Mickey and the headstone.

If asked about it later, Mickey would completely deny the hand he reached out and placed on Ian’s shoulder, squeezing gently. Ian met his gaze, holding it before Mickey turned and knelt down.

“Hey Mom,” he murmured, placing the flowers at the foot of the marker and running a hand over the smooth surface. “Happy birthday.”

Behind him, Ian seemed to find his voice, if just barely. “I’m sorry,” he rasped out.

“Yeah.” He cleared the sudden lump in his throat. “Mom, this red-headed, recently acquired, pain in my ass,” he pointed over his shoulder, “is Ian. He’s the guy I told you about, with the garden I keep stealing from.”

“You talk to her about me?”

Mickey nodded without looking away from the gravestone and continued with a small blush growing over his cheeks at his admission. 

“He caught me today and, instead of just tearing me a new one, telling me off, or making me pay for them like a normal person, he insisted on coming along to see if the girl was worth it,” he laughed. “He didn’t believe me when I said you are. Something about not trusting a thief.” He smirked back at Ian, hoping to get across that he didn’t have any hard feelings.

Ian answered with a small smile of his own; his eyes were misty.

“With as much as I’ve stolen from him, I probably wouldn’t believe me either.”

For several minutes, Mickey knelt there, talking quietly to his mom. All the while, Ian stood behind him with enough space between them so he wouldn’t overhear. 

With anyone else, Mickey would’ve felt uncomfortable, self-conscious. Even with Mandy, he just couldn’t do it. That’s why he always came alone. But Ian was an oddly calming presence during such a private moment. 

When he was done, Mickey rose to his feet. “I’ll see you next week, okay?” He leaned over and placed a kiss on the top of the gravestone.

“She’s beautiful, Mick.” Ian whispered.

“Yeah. Yeah, she was,” he replied, slightly taken aback by what Ian had said. He didn’t notice he was staring at Ian until his green eyes were looking back at him in confusion.

“What? Do I have something on my face?”

“You called me Mick.”

“Sorry, I didn’t-”

“No, it’s fine. It’s just– She used to call me that.” He watched Ian’s mouth pull into an “o” as he went on. “No one’s called me that since.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

“No, that’s okay,” he assured quickly, maybe too quickly. “I mean, uh, you don’t have to.” He scratched the back of his neck, trying to get his words out, and control the blush he could feel traveling up his neck. “It’s nice to hear it again.”

“Well then, Mick,” Ian smiled, “where to now?”

**Author's Note:**

> I found this prompt on pinterest: "Sometimes I steal flowers from your garden on my way to the cemetery, but today you've caught me and have demanded to come with me to make sure the "girl is pretty enough to warrant flower theft" and I'm trying to figure out how to break it to you that we're on our way to a graveyard" AU  
> And this is what happened. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
